An Assassination of a Different Sort
by LilyMoon'sAlias
Summary: Another one shot of SchuldigYohji. Follows after Dancing With Eyes Closed. Yohji takes Schuldig up on his offer. Is it just another selfdestructive mistake. Yaoi. Don't own Weiss Kreuz, make nothing from the stories.


Yohji followed the other man into a room on the ground floor of a seedy little hotel, the type that charged by the hour. With every step his confidence waned. Just what the fuck was he doing? Sure, he hadn't been too careful of preserving his skin since killing Neu, but he had never been actively suicidal. His carelessness had started drawing concerned looks from Omi, his increased drinking and chain smoking had got him spirited lectures from Ken, and Aya had just eyed him with a curled lip and thinly veiled contempt for such visible weakness. Yohji paused to light a smoke and reflected on Weiss' resident redhead. Prissy bastard, too wrapped up in his whole pity party to give a shit that he was just another member of the human race and not the only one with nightmares to disturb his sleep.

The other redhead waiting in the room wasn't any better than himself, if anything worse, but at least he knew it. Hell, the telepath probably embraced the life and slept with his gun under his pillow. Hard, sadistic and cruel, his mind hardwired for destruction, that was Schuldig, but the personality was wrapped in a pretty package worth a second look and inspiring of a few sweaty fantasies. He could easily give a good fuck and walk away without the need for reassurances of his performance or worth to his partner. He really didn't give a damn beyond the moment.

Yohji breathed in the acrid smoke from the last of his cigarette and flicked the spent butt to the street, entered the room and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it and watched Schuldig strip off his flashy jacket and step out of his shoes. Schuldig had been anonymously dancing with Yohji for weeks and hadn't tried to kill him yet. Yohji didn't think the telepath would lead him to a dingy hotel room just to put a bullet in his head. If he had any agenda it was more sadistic than that, but Yohji was sure he had seen real heat and desire in Schuldig's eyes in the club. The touches to his writhing body had been purposeful and intended to ignite the same desire. Yohji took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his head back to thump against the cheap wood of the door.

"Going to say anything?" Yohji asked, his weariness and irritation with himself threading his voice.

Schuldig lounged on the sagging bed and cocked an eyebrow at Yohji, a smirk gracing his lips.

"What's there to say, Kudou? You knew what I wanted when you followed me." Schuldig bared his even, white teeth in a predator's grin. "Or do you need the illusion that you are being coerced to salvage what's left of your pride? You need me to talk you into it? If that's the case, sorry to disappoint you. I'm not generous enough to make it easy for you. You can't do it, just go back to the kitty house. Take a bottle and pretend with the rest of them that you are still some White Knight fighting the good fight."

Yohji's shriveled ego flared with hate and anger coursed through him.

"Bastard," He choked out.

"Never denied it," Schuldig returned easily. "Decide Kudou. I don't have time for your identity crisis. If you leave I still have time to pick up a more accommodating lay."

Further incensed, Yohji covered the distance to the bed and shoved Schuldig backwards and braced an arm on either side of his head. The telepath's eyes danced with amusement and he slid his hands up Yohji's sides to skim under the barely there shirt to flicker over his ribs.

"Fucker. I saw you in the club, your eyes. I felt your touch. You want me," Yohji rasped, his lips hovering over Schuldig's.

'I'm attracted to your body, Kudou. You know that it's a fine one or you wouldn't dress like you do, and your mind is a tasty banquet of pain and guilt. Double the pleasure, double my fun."

Schuldig took the opportunity to pinch Yohji's nipples, eliciting a hiss of pained pleasure. Yohji braced himself on one arm and grabbed a handful of orange hair to jerk Schuldig up into a bruising kiss. It wasn't meant to be tender. He split his own lip on Schuldig's teeth and tasted blood along with the telepath's own spicy flavor. When they parted Schuldig grinned ferally and licked the blood from his lips and flipped Yohji to his back.

Yohji's clinging pants were stripped from his long legs in savage motions, taking his shoes with them. No underwear. Schuldig had suspected that as well as the very hard cock revealed. No doubt left that Yohji was aroused. Schuldig laughed soundlessly and kept Yohji pinned while he loosened his own pants just enough. He removed a packet of slick from his jacket pocket and a condom. Schuldig didn't believe Yohji carried a disease, but he had no desire to leave Weiss with a convenient DNA sample. Brad would shoot him the minute he walked in the door. He laughed again when he noticed Yohji had closed his eyes again and was panting softly. Schuldig rolled on the condom and coated himself with slick. He pushed one of Yohji's legs to his chest and hooked the knee over his elbow. With his other hand he grasped Yohji's chin.

"Open you eyes, Kudou. It's still me who will be fucking you even if you try to shut me out."

Yohji opened his eyes and immediately squeezed them shut to hold back tears and bit his tongue to stifle a yell of pain has Schuldig thrust in with no gentleness or preparation. He rode Yohji swiftly and mercilessly, grunting with exertion. Schuldig caught the threads of Yohji's wildly fluctuating consciousness and bound him to his own mind, dragging the other assassin along when he jerked and gasped as orgasm hit him with savage suddenness. He spurted hotly inside Yohji's body even as Yohji yelped and came helplessly over his own belly. Schuldig collapsed over Yohji's aching body and turned his head to suck a vivid purple mark on Yohji's neck, one that would be blackened and conspicuous by tomorrow.

Schuldig pulled out of Yohji roughly and bounced up to clean himself off with the threadbare towel offered by the hotel. He rearranged his clothing, tossed the towel on Yohji's belly and helped himself to one of Yohji's cigarettes as he slipped his feet back into his shoes and shrugged into his blazer. He peered through the curling smoke at Yohji's unmoving body on the disheveled bed. The blond lay with an arm over his eyes, his climax drying on his belly.

"The room's only paid up until three a.m., Kudou. I suggest you pull yourself together," Schuldig said, the cigarette bobbing with his words. "You were pretty damn good. Of course, I've had better, but you were a treat all the same. We'll have to do this again sometime."

Yohji didn't respond so Schuldig shrugged his shoulders left, closing the room door with a final click. It was a while before Yohji could move, painfully dragging his body up to limp to the bathroom to clean up. He surveyed the blackening mark on his neck that couldn't be hidden unless his borrowed Aya's damnable orange sweater and the flat, bleakness in his green eyes.

Yohji smashed his fist into the mirror and grimaced at his distorted reflection and licked his skinned knuckles. He absolutely hated himself right now. The worst part was that he knew if Schuldig approached him again he would follow again. Yohji ran his bloodied hand over the tattoo on his left shoulder.

"Nope, I'm never going to learn," He whispered to the cracked kaleidoscope of glass.

Yohji limped back to retrieve his pants and shoes.

"Fuck," He mumbled and scrubbed an angry tear off his face before lighting another cigarette from his crumpled pack and leaving the hotel room. He heard a quiet chuckle of amusement whisper through his mind.

"Fuck you, too," Yohji said to the disembodied laugh.

/Anytime./ Was the sardonic response.

-fin- 


End file.
